Time to Pretend
by Read Me And Weep
Summary: After the war it's 'live fast, die young' for the surviving youth. Draco and Hermione fall in love in a haze of potions, but will it be enough to overcome the horrors of their pasts and their present?
1. My Drug Buddy

**A/N:** Well…Let me know what you think of this one. Loosely based on the song "I'll Believe in Anything" by The Wolf Parade, but also named after the MGMT song "Time to Pretend".

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><p>They tried not to remember. But they weren't exactly trying to forget, either. The truth they seemed to be living their lives off of was that they had lived so purposefully, for so long, they had seen such atrocities at such young ages, and then suddenly, it was over. They were done. Their jobs were complete, there was no mission, no world to save, and they were told to have fun, to enjoy life. They were rewarded handsomely for their "Humanitarian Aid"; whatever that was. Perhaps people thought that they would handle it better, perhaps people thought that because they had grown up this way they would turn out alright, or perhaps people thought that throwing a bunch of money at them would heal all wounds. People were wrong. Growing up with constant danger changes a person. And then when the threat is eliminated, when there is no more danger, when there is no job, life seems small and obsolete. The only reason they were alive was because they were survivors at heart, and survivors can't quit, not completely. Some claimed they had given up for all intents and purposes, and maybe they had. Maybe they had. Giving emotionally unstable teens large amounts of money might not have been the best idea on Humanity's part, though.<p>

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><p>"Hermione! 'Mione! You have to try this, come here."<p>

"Honestly, Ronald. Stop screaming, I'm right next to you."

"I knew that! You weren't paying attention, is all. Here, take this." The lanky red headed man handed the girl a shot glass full of a murky blue liquid.

"What in the name of Merlin is this?"

"I'm not sure… It's supposed to open up your inner mind, though."

The wild haired woman stared at him, questioning his sanity.

"Ronald, you know I do not take anything if I don't know what it is. Besides, my inner mind is plenty open. Give me something to close it."

"OI!" Ron screamed at a figure across the dark room. The scream was lost, as the room was dark and loud, with music blaring and lights flashing in the small but crowded club. Hermione and Ron were seated in a dingy corner where dim blue lamps shone, trying to pass as light to see by. The dark haired man Ron had called to was chatting up a slim blonde at the bar.

"Won't Ginny be pissed?" Hermione asked, in a tone that clearly stated she'd asked before and even then hadn't actually cared about the answer.

Ron rolled his eyes. "When isn't Ginny pissed at Harry?" he replied in answer, in a similarly disinterested tone.

But he got up and shoved his way to the bar to grab Harry's shoulder and turned him around. The blonde, clearly affronted, stalked off at Ron's rudeness.

Hermione saw them speak for a moment before Harry discretely slipped a vial into Ron's hand. Ron clapped him on the shoulder and pushed his way back to the couch in the corner where Hermione lounged.

"Here you are," he stated as he tossed her the vial.

"And what's this one?" she asked as she uncorked the small bottle full of thick red liquid.

"Not sure, but it's more your style."

She shrugged and smirked a little when she realized she didn't know what this potion was made of either, but never the less she downed it in one gulp as Ron chugged the mysterious blue potion he had offered her earlier. He smacked his lips happily and turned to her.

"Better?"

She smiled lazily back at him.

"Much," she declared, before standing up.

"Care to dance?" she asked as she slithered onto the dance floor without waiting for an answer.

Ron nodded, smile still on his face, but didn't get up to follow. As Hermione had left, a brunette that had been eyeing him for the better part of the night moved into her vacant seat.

Hermione often danced by herself at clubs. That isn't to say that men (or women, for that matter) didn't try to dance with her. They did. Usually they ground their bodies into her intensely, but she just didn't seem to notice. She was in her own world, dancing to the beat of her own drum (literally). She didn't mind when people tried to dance with her; in fact they probably thought they _were_ dancing with her. But to her, it didn't count. She never noticed when she had a partner or didn't, let alone who they were or how they danced.

She glanced over to Ron to find him already snogging the brunette. Her eyes slowly sought out Harry and she caught his eyes just as he was heading towards the exit, his arm loosely around the waist of a different blonde girl than the one that had been at the bar, this one slightly less anorexic looking than the previous. He smirked at Hermione and she smiled and laughed.

Ron and Harry were quite the man whores. She admitted that they were good looking men, but that it was also probably their fame in the wizarding world that got them the most girls. Maybe this fame gave them a certain confidence, or maybe girls just liked saying they had slept with the famous Harry Potter or the illustrious Ronald Weasley. Either way, those boys had a lot of sex. Hermione probably could do the same, and she had for a while, but it had gotten boring fast. She was never that into the sex, and no matter how many new partners she had or different positions or fetishes or kinks she tried, it bored her to tears. She still had sex occasionally, of course, but not nearly as many times as Ron and Harry did. She supposed that it was the same with most women. Men would have sex with anything at any time, but it seemed to her that most girls that were like that had some self-esteem issues they needed to work on. Hermione probably had those, but she had so many issues these days it was hard to keep track of them all. She felt that something within her was wrong, but she tried to suppress it. And the memories. Good or bad, it didn't matter; she didn't want to think of any of it. Of when she'd been tortured, when she'd seen Fred die, when she had let Tonks and Remus die during the final battle, when she hadn't been able to stop Neville from going as insane as his parents, when Ron's mum had to go to St. Mungo's when she'd found Hermione and Ron doing drugs for the first time…. She shook her head and looked around.

She'd stopped dancing without noticing and simply stood in the middle of the dance floor. She noticed a pretty girl standing beside her, staring at her questioningly. Clearly the girl had been dancing ("dancing") with Hermione until Hermione had sunk into the depth of her dark thoughts. She flashed an insincere smile of goodbye at the girl before heading towards to bar.

She reached the bar and when the bartender appeared before her, ordered the strongest firewhisky on hand. As soon as he finished pouring it she threw it back and slammed the glass down, demanding another, and to make it a double. The bartender smirked at her and poured.

"Say when," he said.

She waited until the glass was entirely full of the sparkling amber liquid before stopping him.

She turned around, her back leaning against the bar, to survey the club as she sipped on her drink, letting it gently burn her throat as it went down, loving being able to feel the burn of alcohol at all.

"You look like you need something stronger than that," a silky voice to the left of her stated.

She turned her head to see pale skin and silky blond hair to match the voice.

"Ah, Malfoy, of course you're here."

"No need to say it like that, Granger. I heard the Golden Trio made an appearance, so clearly this is the place to be."

She scoffed at that but said nothing to his snarky comment.

He continued on smoothly, not noticing her silence. "Speaking of, where have the boy wonder and his fiery sidekick gotten off to?"

She barely spared him a glance.

"Probably getting laid, something I'm sure you've almost forgotten how to do, Malfoy."

He laughed lightly, but sent her a scathing glare that she pretended not to notice.

This was their routine. Dark looks, insults, derogatory remarks would fly right and left, but neither left until they were called away. One of their friends, or potential bedmates, always managed to drag them off before anything could come of these wordy spars. Tonight though, Hermione assumed Draco would be called off first. Her friends had long gone and she simply wasn't liking the crowd at the club tonight. She could venture out to another pub, but she felt content to sit at the bar with an old enemy and argue, a comfortable routine.

She liked these moments with Malfoy, as odd as it was. Her memories with him were not fond, not something to be missed of a previous time. He was one of the few harmless connections she had to her past. This view of her relationships used to leave her surprised that she and Harry and Ron had remained friends for so long, but then when she thought about it, she realized they weren't that close. They liked going out together or trashing the news' most recent story about their illicit love affairs, but they didn't really talk. Not about the important things. But then again, she didn't talk about that with anyone, and she doubted the boys did either. So maybe they were close and partying and drugs and scandals was all that held their relationship together. She shook her head again. She seemed to be breaking all her rules about what she normally permitted herself to think about tonight.

Malfoy looked at her. "You disagree with yourself then? Good choice, Granger, because I happen to be fantastic in the sack due to much practice."

She smirked at him, "Liars always have an excuse, Malfoy."

She turned back to the bar for another drink before last call, and felt Malfoy watching her every move. It made her self-conscious that he watched her like that, studying her figure. It wasn't so much in a predatory way, though they were clearly attracted to one another, after all she was no fool, not even in that department. He was attractive, she knew she wasn't a hag, and she was famous after all. And one of the most alluring parts about Draco Malfoy was that he was a well known name but managed to stay in the shadows. But the way he looked at her, it was more like he was comparing her to what she used to be, and she didn't warm to the idea of a comparison of herself. It was one thing to have the public eye on you or to be looked at as a sexual object, but to be looked at in a caring and understanding way, by a peer no less? It had been quite a while. It made her really look at herself. She had lost a lot of weight, her hair was still wild, but lacked it's usual luster and shine, her skin was milky and the flush on her cheeks wasn't from a healthy dash of sunlight; it was from heat and alcohol. Had her parents still been alive they would have had much to say about her appearance. She shook her head again. Damn, her mind was all over the place tonight, she couldn't seem to control it. How long did she have to wait before the damn drugs kicked in?

She whipped around to continue her conversation with Malfoy, trying to ignore the cautious look he was giving her.

"Where were we Mal—oh!" She exclaimed, almost in a whisper.

Malfoy stared at her, a hard look on his face.

Her eyes were glazed over lightly and a slight half smile graced her face, brightening her features by a miniscule amount.

"Granger? You look like you've just been imperiused, is anything the matter?"

"Not anymore," she said in a dreamy voice, directing her smile at him.

He stared for a second longer before visibly relaxing.

"Ah," he said in understanding, "Care to share?"

It took her a moment to respond, so far was she within the drug induced haze that had finally descended upon her, but she finally did.

"I took it all,"

He raised her eyebrows. "No shit, Granger. What was it?"

"Something…red?" She replied in a hesitant voice, not really remembering what it had been. Had Ron said? She didn't think so...

"Oh, dragon's blood? That's quite good." He said, returning his gaze to the dance floor, scanning the crowd for a partner just to show Granger that he wasn't as pathetic as she thought he was. Though she probably wouldn't remember it in the morning anyways, so there wasn't a point besides protecting his own pride.

She giggled. "Dragon's blood? Is it really dragon's blood? I don't think Dumbledore mentioned that in his paper on the 12 uses of dragon's blood…" she giggled some more before sobering suddenly.

"Dumbledore…was a great man," she said somberly, before promptly bursting into tears.

Draco looked at her in utter confusion. What the hell was he supposed to do with a crying Hermione Granger at the bar of a dingy club? He looked around wildly, trying to will one of her friends to appear and take her off his hands. When no one appeared out of sheer will he looked back at the sniffling mess Hermione had become. He patted her shoulder awkwardly.

"There, there…" he said before she threw herself in his arms, sobbing into his neck. He wrapped his arms around her lightly, unsure of what to do.

"It's alright…Hermione. It's not actually dragon's blood, I don't think. That's just the name, because it's red...and er...quite strong."

Instantly she stopped sobbing and looked up at him, her eyes glittering with excitement.

"Really?"

"Err…really."

She threw her head back into his neck and squeezed him tightly.

His arms dropped to his side. He could literally feel every curve of her body pressed against his, and he was fighting a losing battle within himself on whether to react or not.

She pulled her head away from him so she could see him a bit better, but kept her body glued to his. She looked up at him through her dark eyelashes.

"Don't you…_like_ me," at the word _like_ she ground her body into him, nearly causing his eyelids to flutter, before she whispered his name into his ear, nipping his earlobe as she did so.

He promptly lost all control of his reactions and wrapped his arms around her, losing himself in the kiss.

Before he knew it they were back in her studio flat, lounging on her bed, naked, entwined with one another.

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><p><strong>AN:** Everyone be surprised, there will be another chapter! Possibly several, actually.


	2. Happiness is a Warm Gun

**A/N:** "Forgive us now for what we've done, it started out as a bit of fun," –Kudos to the person who recognizes the quote without having to look it up!

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><p>"This is fun,"<p>

Draco looked up Hermione, his face expressionless, but not in an unpleasant way.

"Don't be daft, Granger, of course doing drugs is fun. That's why people do them."

She laughed softly and rolled her eyes at him.

"I meant with you! It's fun doing this with you."

He smirked at her.

"Don't get all sentimental on me or you'll ruin it."

She laughed again but nodded and lay back on the bed stretching out all her limbs and rolling them around, luxuriating in the feel of her stretching muscles.

"Can you feel it yet?" She asked him, her voice only coming out as a gentle whisper.

Draco dropped back on the bed as well.

"Oh, yes."

She rolled over to face him and carefully placed a hand on his face. Draco shuddered lightly and she smiled.

"Everything feels so good," he whispered with his eyes closed.

She laughed again, and for the first time since she'd been doing potions and drugs she wasn't sure if the happiness she was feeling was artificial or came from a real place. She pushed the thought quickly aside though, she didn't want to ruin the high she was on by dragging reality into her mind.

She stroked his cheek gently, enjoying the softness of his pale skin.

"I'm going to fall apart if you keep that up, Granger," Draco murmured.

A small smile tugged at her lips.

"I have to be honest with you, I don't normally do this."

Draco opened one eye to look at her.

"You're joking."

She shook her head gently.

"Granger, I know for a fact you're lying. I've sold you drugs before."

She laughed loudly.

"That's not what I meant!" She paused here, trying to decide how to word her thought.

"I meant that besides Harry and Ron, and I'm honestly not even sure if they count, I don't really spend time with other people this often."

She eyed him carefully, trying to gauge his reaction.

He tried to fight the grin forming on his lips and failed miserably.

"I'm happy to hear you say that, Granger, because it's the same for me as well."

She stared back at him.

"Oh? You're chummy with Harry and Ron as well?"

His look darkened considerably and she giggled as he launched himself at her, tickling her until she stopped fighting him. They both stilled when they realized their proximity to one another. Draco hovered over Hermione, his hands gripping her waist as their noses rubbed, before they kissed gently. Gradually it became fiercer, and soon they were completely lost in one another.

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><p>As Hermione floated back into the waking world, she could tell there were eyes on her. She lay on her stomach, her head nestled in a fluffy pillow with her face to the side, a sheet wrapped around her waist and legs and her arm was draped over a warm body. She let her eyelids flutter but kept them closed, relishing that feeling of being well rested but not fully awake yet.<p>

"Good morning," she mumbled.

The chest her arm was draped over rumbled slightly in laughter.

She fluttered her eyelids again, this time allowing light to dilate her sleepy pupils. She squinted up at him, trying to block out some of the light and see his face at the same time.

"You've been watching me while I sleep," she stated, her voice a little raspy from sleep.

He smiled through closed lips at her and nodded slightly.

"I've been trying to decide whether I should confess something to you or not," he said, looking uncertain.

She shifted more to her side to look at him better. His messy blonde hair had light streaming through it from the window on his side and it almost looked as if he had a halo.

"Is it something I'd want to hear?" she asked seriously, though she tried to sound lighthearted to put him at ease.

He clearly saw through that façade.

"I'm not sure, that's why I've been sitting here staring at you."

"Well, as long as it's not that I have something ghastly on my face or I've been drooling or snoring or something in my sleep I think I can handle it."

But even as the blithe words came out of her mouth, she tensed up slightly, fearing the worst. She unconsciously began to pull her arm away from his chest in anticipation but his hand gripped hers and stopped it.

He looked down at their joined hands before starting.

"I don't typically do this."

"Do what? Make confessions?" She asked, half joking, half trying to stop him.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and made a halfhearted attempt at a smile. He was seriously worrying her with all this seriousness.

"Well, that too. But I meant I don't normally stick around this long after I've slept with someone."

She tensed even more, preparing herself for the bad news.

"And now, we've been sleeping together for weeks. And I'm still here, I haven't tried to run without saying goodbye."

This was it. She could almost feel the tears forming in her eyes and she felt like a fool.

"But with you, I haven't even thought of leaving. Whatever we do, whether it's going out or lounging about here, I'm never bored. We don't even talk half the time and I'm perfectly content just being around you. I don't know what that means. I don't know how you feel, and I don't know if you wanted to hear this, but I just thought I should say it. I don't normally stick around like this. This is different."

At the last word he looked her in the eye and a worried expression crossed his face as he took in her watery appearance. But he was only worried for a moment because she smiled at him, and though her eyes were clearly on the verge of dripping tears, it was a happy smile.

"I'm glad you told me," she said as she sat up and gave him a chaste kiss.

She pulled back. "You should know it's the same for me,"

He couldn't contain the goofy grin that spread across his face. He'd smiled more in the past two weeks than he had in his entire life, and though it still felt odd and unnatural he couldn't stop himself.

He couldn't think of anything else to say, so instead he simply kissed her back, trying to pack his feelings into the space where their lips touched.

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><p><strong>AN**: Its short and I know you all waited awhile for it, but I hope this rare piece of happiness I wrote will suffice for now! Do you like the happy Hermione & Draco? It's a bit of a departure for me, I hope I pulled it off well!


	3. Where is My Mind?

**AN:** Enjoy!

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><p>Bliss. Pure bliss. Hermione was constantly searching for it. The feeling of being out of her own skin, out of her own mind; to be anyone but herself was her only goal. It was easier that way. Then she wouldn't have to deal with her own problems. She wouldn't have to handle the fact that she had killed and maimed in the sake of a Greater Good or to save her loved ones. She wouldn't have to miss all the people she had lost, to realize her heart was no longer whole anymore. If she floated away on a cloud of nothingness she wouldn't have to think about the fact that she was not coping well after the war, and neither were her two closest friends either. She wouldn't have to think about the fact that she didn't really have close friends anymore. Everyone she had killed to save either had died anyways or they were so lost in their own problems they were merely empty shells of themselves.<p>

No. When Hermione was on the cusp of that blissfully ignorant feeling that drugs pushed into her, she was numb to it all.

But lately…lately Hermione almost enjoyed being in her own skin, being herself. For longer and longer she remained in semi or completely sober states. Being with Draco was almost a drug in itself because she felt so happy…so blissful. He made her laugh so hard she would cry, he made her feel butterflies in her stomach or a warm fuzzy feeling in the depths of her belly that came from being cared for and wanted by someone you wanted just as deeply and desperately as they wanted you. She loved feeling all of this. And when she wasn't on any drugs or potions she really felt it. It wasn't artificially caused by chemicals or magic. And when she was sober she felt that his caresses felt even better because they were so genuine and so real. They kept her grounded.

All of this was enough to make her give up her lifestyle of partying.

But then all the problems she was running from caught up with her.

She and Draco couldn't be with one another every second of the day. Though they hadn't many obligations these days, there still existed a few that required them to be separate and dealing with other people on their own. And it was during these times that Hermione felt as if she was suffocating and being slammed into a brick wall all at once. If she attended them sober, that is. Which she always tried to do for the sake of trying, but it would quickly become too much for her to handle. Take the ribbon cutting for Florean Fortescue's second ice cream parlour he was just opening in Hogsmeade to celebrate the success of his renewed business in Diagon Alley. All she had to do was stand around and smile and cut the ribbon and leave.

She had literally taken one step into the place and had gone into a panic attack, so with unsteady legs she had taken herself into the bath room. She grabbed at the sink desperately trying to hold herself up through the sobs that shook her body. Someone tried to enter the room and she pulled out her wand and stuttered a spell to lock them out. Tears streaming down her face in frustration and self-pity that she could not even do this one thing, cut a bloody ribbon, without self-medicating. With shaking hands she drew a small vial from her pocket and downed it in one gulp. She waited in the locked powder room until the potion took effect and her eyes glazed over before exiting the room.

She barely remembered standing on the stage and smiling and clapping on cue with everyone else. She thought she might have almost cut Florean's hand when she used her wand to sever the ribbon, but she didn't see anything about it in the paper the next day so she assumed the ceremony had gone without incident.

She loved being with Draco, but she either relied on him or drugs to keep her dark thoughts at bay, and she was quickly coming to resent the time she spent sober, even some of the time that was spent with him.

But she loved being with him all the same. She was just afraid that one day he would ask her what was wrong or he would try to talk to her or get her to acknowledge her feelings or memories. And she couldn't allow that to happen. The lighthearted teasing they shared was the deepest she could handle. The closest they had come to saying "I like you" was saying that the relationship they shared with one another was different than they had with anyone else. And that meant a lot, to be sure, it was a very impersonal and detached way of saying "I love you", but it was just that; detached, just the way Hermione wanted it.

She felt that he liked it the same way, though. Not that they ever talked about it, of course, but he never brought any feelings up in a way that made her feel uncomfortable either. But he was so happy around her sometimes she was afraid he was healing. Which she wanted for him, of course she wanted him to be healthy and happy and a functioning wizard, but then everything would change and he would either try to fix her, which she could not allow, she just wasn't ready, or he wouldn't want her because she was so bloody damaged he wouldn't want to deal with her anymore.

These fears only drove her to drink more and their sober moments together dwindled, but Draco never said a word to comment on the fluctuations of her soberness.

So Hermione went on pretending her life was the same and nothing had changed. Draco and she would go out to clubs and bars and parties. They would meet up with Harry and Ron and whatever girls those two had hanging off of them for the night. They would all get sloshed and stumble back to their flats. They had the type of fun you can only have when you're rich with access to high quality drugs and drinks. And Hermione repeated to herself every night before she passed out in Draco's arms that she was having fun, that she was happy, that she was blissful.

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><p><strong>AN:<strong> I hope you all liked this. I realize there wasn't really any action in this and it was short, but hopefully the fact that I updated quickly will make up for it! Let me know what you think!


	4. SemiCharmed Life

**AN:** Shout out to RhapsodyInBlue-Equus (Who probably doesn't read this story, but read and reviewed **I Hate You**, and the review made me so happy!). Thank you for addressing my slight rant and sudden doubt of the relationship between two unlikely characters I have come grown to love so much!

Anyways, sorry it's taken me so long to update this story. No promises for the next update, but know that I haven't abandoned it. I've just taken on some beta duties and it's been midterms and papers 24/7 here!

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><p>"Draco, let's go! Come on!"<p>

She heard his sigh from the bathroom.

"Alright, alright," he called back to her.

She rolled her eyes. He'd been in the bathroom for an hour showering and pampering himself, he was worse than any girl she knew. Although if truth be told she didn't have many girlfriends, or friends that she spent much time with at all, Draco was the closest thing she had to it, and that was based solely on the amount of time she spent around him or thinking about him.

He walked out, his blond hair perfectly mussed as usual, and smelling distinctly fresh and woodsy, like only a freshly showered young male can. She had to stop herself from sighing out loud at his beauty.

He wasn't that beautiful in the typical sense, though. She supposed to others he was good looking enough, he was tall, but on the lanky side from lack of love in his youth and lack of a care for physical well-being now. He was fair skinned and though once the tone had suited him, he now, like her, had an ashy complexion from being indoors so often. His aristocratic features remained true though, with a long face and pointed nose and those arctic eyes that could stop her cold. She felt as if her face was positively round compared to the angles his features wore. But she didn't care about any of these things. Whether he was attractive mattered not to her. She loved spending time with him because he made her heart feel lighter than it had in years, because it was easy to be near him, because the sex was mind blowing, because he was smart, because he liked her sass and intelligence, but never cared if there was a fact she hadn't learned or if she couldn't handle fighting at the moment. He practically anticipated her every need with such ease. She doubted you found more than one person so attuned to your own soul more than once in a life time.

"Well if you're finished staring at me, I'm ready to go."

Her eyes snapped to his, trying to discern if the attitude in his tone was in jest or not.

His icy eyes told her not.

"What's the matter with you? I've been the one waiting for over half an hour for you to get your arse out the door,"

"Let's just go," He said as he moved towards the door and opened it, only pausing to see if she was following.

"Shall we?" He continued impatiently

She grumbled under her breath at his disagreeable behavior. Hadn't she just been thinking to herself how attuned to her feelings he was? Now here she was, excited for a night out with him and he was dragging his feet every step of the way.

They Apparated to an alley behind the Wizarding club they were going to in Muggle London and Hermione banged on the back door. It was raining lightly outside and there was a chill in the air. Hermione shivered slightly and felt Draco tense from the cold behind her, though he made no move to come closer to her for warmth. Obviously he was still angry about whatever had pissed him off earlier. She banged on the door again. She just wanted to get in there and get out of the cold that was seeping into her pores and soul from the cold rain and frozen glare she could feel drilling into the back of her head.

Finally the door cracked open and a tall, dark wizard poked his head out of the door looking around suspiciously, his right arm hidden behind the door. When he saw Hermione he relaxed and she saw his wand arm behind the door as he let her in.

"Took long enough, didn't you, Diego?" she grumbled at him. Diego only dipped his head in acknowledgement of their entry as they pushed through the dark hallway towards the sounds of loud bass and pungent smell of drinks and sweat.

Honestly she shouldn't complain about Diego, one of the few perks of being a war hero that she took advantage of was being let through the back entries of places to avoid reporters and annoying fans. But clearly, Draco's bad mood was spreading, and she was vexed by him.

She walked through the writhing throng towards the bar, not caring if Draco followed her or not, though she suspected he would. She was determined to have fun tonight, but if he didn't want to be a part of it than he could just bugger off. She had had good times without him before, and she could do it again.

She weaved her way towards the bar and smiled when she saw the bartender. Maybe tonight could be just as good as she had planned.

"Ah, Hermione, how are you?" the dark blond man behind the bar asked as he was pouring a lime green looking drink for a slim red head at the end of the counter.

"Oh, I'm much better now, Callum," she replied, dazzling him with a smile.

"The usual, then?" Callum inquired, already grabbing for a bottle of dark amber liquid and a crystal tumbler.

"I was thinking something a _little_ stronger for tonight,"

He paused for a moment as if considering something and then smirked at her.

"It's been ages, love, I thought you'd never ask!"

She laughed lightly at his flirtation.

"Callum, you know what I mean!"

He grinned at her again and poured her a drink. He handed the tumbler to her and as he did so pressed a small vial into her hand.

"Take care, Hermione," he called over his shoulder as he went back to tending the bar and chatting up the red head who hadn't left with her finished drink.

When she turned around she came face to face with Draco. And he didn't look any happier than he had when they'd left her flat. In fact, he looked even icier, if that was even possible.

He opened his mouth to speak and she waved him off, she didn't want to have this out with him now and she could guess what had made him angrier.

"There's no need to be jealous about Callum, Draco," Draco's mouth snapped shut at her declaration. "Honestly. I haven't even seen him in ages, there's nothing between us."

She tried to push away from him and move towards the lounge area in the back for some privacy to look closer at what Callum had given her and enjoy the drug in peace, but Draco grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Thanks for the reassurance, Hermione," he spat out, "But that wasn't what I was going to say."

Hermione looked at his large hand gripping her pale, thin arm and glared at him.

"Well then what was it, Draco?" she gritted back at him, becoming angrier by the minute. "What did you want to say?"

"I was _going_ to ask what Callum gave you," he hissed at her.

She looked up at him, surprised by his question; she nearly laughed at him for it. Didn't he know?

"Seriously, Draco? Drugs…he gave me drugs. I don't know what kind, you can have some if there's enough, of course—"

He dropped her arm abruptly and his face twisted into a look of disgust and disappointment.

"Oh don't look at me like that, you _deal _drugs and potions! You're practically a god damn apothecary, Draco! What? Are you mad I didn't get them from you? I thought it would be a little strange to ask for drugs from the man I've been fucking for months, and besides, Callum always has the most unusual—"

He interrupted her.

"The man you've been _fucking_ for the past few months? Really, Hermione?"

He shook his head at her in disappointment and stormed off through the crowd. Hermione made to follow him but paused as she looked down at the drink in her hand. In one swift movement she poured the little vial into her firewhisky and then downed the entire thing in a single gulp. She turned and slammed the glass onto the bar before going off after Draco, fuming at him the entire time. How could he just accuse her of something so idiotic and then run off without letting her explain? She had only been talking; she hadn't meant anything by it, she was just being blithe. He knew he was more to her than just a fuck buddy, didn't he? It wasn't like they declared their feelings for one another on a regular basis. And when they did it was phrased as, "I love spending time with you" or "I've never told anyone that" or "This is the longest I've been with someone" but never "I love you". But they both knew how the other felt, regardless of the words or lack thereof.

She saw a flash of blond move down the blackened corridor towards the back exit that they had entered through earlier. She went after it and saw Draco shove Diego aside as he wrenched the door open and stormed out. A blast of cold, wet air swept through the hall and hit her full force. She shook herself and ran after him into the grimy alley before he could Disapparate to god knows where she wouldn't be able to find him for hours.

He was stalking towards the back of the alley when she caught his arm and forcibly turned him around.

"Draco! Don't be such a git! Look I'm sorry, you know you're not just that guy, I didn't mean it like that—"

But she topped short, silenced by the look on his face.

She had expected fury and anger, maybe even hurt, but though she thought she saw flickers of those emotions, they weren't what stopped her.

What stopped her was the unrepressed look of sadness and longing on his face. The look a man has when he wants something he can never have and has just realized it. The look of being filled with remorse and regret, the look of knowing there are things that can never be, the look a man gets when he is dreading saying goodbye.

He turned from her and made to keep walking. The few drops of rain from earlier were steadily turning into a chilly downpour and her cloths and hair were quickly becoming plastered to her body, but she hardly felt it compared to the chill that had just swept through her soul from the look on Draco's face.

"Wh-where are you going, Drake?" she whispered, hating herself for how pathetic she sounded— how vulnerable she felt in that moment.

He stopped and slowly turned back around to face her, unwillingness in every muscle he moved.

"I can't…" he started and stopped. With more resolve, he tried again.

"I can't do this anymore, Hermione." His blond locks were draped wetly across his brow and he looked like a drowning angel to her. The streetlamp shined down on him and the cold rain brought an almost healthy looking blush to his cheeks and her heart hurt from the sight of it.

She felt like he was talking to her from very far away, like she was at the end of a tunnel, or the bottom of a well. His words were warbled and grainy sounding, like a bad tape.

"Why?" she whispered, was it to herself? Was it to him? Did she even want to know? She couldn't stop herself, couldn't control anything.

He looked down at his hands in his pockets, hands that were clearly clenched into fists as if trying to stop themselves from reaching out to her, or maybe to stop themselves from punching something, she wasn't sure which. She wasn't sure of anything anymore, because he was leaving now. He was saying goodbye.

"I want something else," he shrugged, as if this explained it all, as if words weren't needed, though the pain in his eyes looked like it wanted to say so much more.

He paused, trying to phrase his next words delicately.

"I thought…we could get through this together, that I could wait."

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep her body from falling apart, to keep her heart from bursting out of its cage.

"Wait?" she repeated, testing the word out with her tongue. Wait, wait, wait! Don't leave! Don't do this! Wait, please, wait. But she just nodded numbly instead. Her jaw locked, her mind frozen.

"I want something else," he repeated simply, as if this explained it all, as if those four words made sense of everything that had happened, of everything he was doing.

She just kept nodding and hugging herself. She bit down on her lip, chewing at it incessantly, as if it held all the answers. He took a half step forward, but then thought better of it and retreated. He gave her a look filled with longing before turning and taking two steps forward until he had finally hit the back of the alley, the Disapparation point. He turned around and gave her one last long gaze before Disapparating, leaving her in the alley, cold and alone.

"Wait," she repeated, but it was too late, he was gone, and she was standing in the rain.

She stood like that for awhile, unmoving. She wasn't sure if the water on her face was from rain or tears or if the rawness of her throat was from the cold or crying, because she hadn't cried in such a long time, and she didn't think anything could feel the emptiness he had just left her with.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> How did I do with the OC characters? I don't usually use them so I'm not very well practiced with randomly popping people in, but I figured most of the kids from Hogwarts are either, dead, screwed up, or successful and not at clubs so they wouldn't work.

Don't worry, this is not the end! There will be more to this story!


	5. Up In Flames

**AN:** It's sad that no one seems to be reading this story because even though it had a rocky start I really think this will be one of my better ones, and it'll be longer than what I typically do! But please review and tell me if it's not up to par. This is a long one and updated quickly, hope you enjoy!

* * *

><p>Hermione returned home somehow. She didn't use magic, or at least did not remember intentionally using any. She remembered stumbling through the wet streets of London with no jacket, but she barely felt the lowering temperature through the cloud of sadness that enveloped her. She felt numb besides the broken feeling fracturing through her body. Was this heart break? Were these the drugs Callum had given her? She had never figured out what they were before she had taken them…before she had run outside to have her heart shredded and then stomped upon by a stampeding herd of angry elephants.<p>

But she couldn't really think of that now. She was home. She had been so cold and wet and her teeth had been chattering so badly she could barely wave her wand and utter the incantation to let herself in. When she had, she let her frozen body collapse as soon as the door closed behind her. She was currently crumpled on the floor of her flat, shivering and hyperventilating. The tears, if there had even been any—she couldn't be sure because of the drugs and the damn rain—had stopped long ago. She just kept replaying the scene in her head over and over again. And when that slowly faded, she relived memory after memory that she had long thought were permanently buried.

...Bellatrix stood above her, screaming maniacally before she drew out her knife to manually carve Hermione's flesh...

...Remus and Tonks ran around the corner of a darkened Hogwarts, Hermione stood silently inactive, debating whether or not to call out to them and give away her position But it was too late, she was unable to warn them that it was an ambush, she watched their bodies explode in front of her...

...Fred stood laughing one moment, and the next his body was flung sideways—eyes open and empty, completely unseeing. Ron cried over his body, his face the picture of despair, desperately trying to shake him back to life...

...She saw Hagrid carrying what she had sickeningly thought was the dead body of her best friend, she thought that it was all over, that everyone would give up, that she would be enslaved or killed for no reason other than her birth...

...She watched triumphantly as Neville chopped the head off the snake, only to freeze in horror a moment later as she saw him be Crucioed by over a hundred Death Eaters at once, his limp body flailing erratically fifteen feet above the bloodied ground...

...Walking through the grounds of Hogwarts, she saw hundreds of her classmates, teachers, and familiar faces from the streets of Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade staring blankly up at her, some mutilated and almost unrecognizable...

...Travelling to Australia to find her parents, she was filled with anticipation. But when she arrived she found their house locked up, and their bloodied and mangled bodies within, Crookshanks hanging by his tail from a fan. She screamed and retched violently, alone and unable to deal...

...She and Ron sat in his room at the Burrow a few weeks after the war when the celebratory haze was slinking away and the trauma of the war was sinking in. They were drinking heavily and experimenting with drugs. Somehow they had ended up half naked and on his bed, before she had started to convulse from the large amount of potions and alcohol coursing through her veins. He had screamed in a stupor of terror and pills; his mother had burst through the door. Hermione had been fine in the end, but this last stress had nearly killed Molly Weasley, and the matriarch had never been quite the same thereafter...

And then her mind circled back to Draco. It always came back to Draco. So much had happened to her, but this newest development, this was what broke her. Letting herself be so vulnerable with another person, only to be disappointed in the end, to be thrown away like a used wrapper, left to float about in the wind. He hadn't been ripped from her as so many others had, he had run screaming from her because of those she had lost. She could barely breathe from the unfairness of it all.

How many terrible things could happen to one person? Hadn't she born enough suffering for a lifetime? But fate couldn't let her be; it had to throw a taste of a happy life at her, a chance at love, only to snatch it up in the cruelest way possible- rejection, rejection because fate had fucked her up beyond forgiveness in the first place.

But she couldn't even draw up enough energy to get that angry because all she felt was this overwhelming sadness. This drowning grief that she had thought she had managed to run from for so long. Her body trembled and quaked from the grief and cold. She wanted to shut her mind off, shut her heart off, shut it all off, but she couldn't move from the fetal position she lay in on the hard wooden floor. So she closed her eyes and held herself, willing some kind of unconsciousness to take her quickly, to take her away from the wretched place she had found herself in. She finally drifted off as the sun began to creep through her shuttered windows.

* * *

><p>When Hermione woke she felt stiff and sore all over from the weather and hard floor. The sun shone brightly into her flat and she squinted her eyes against the unforgiving but undeniably warm light. She slowly got up and stumbled towards her bathroom. She fell to her knees in front of the toilet and retched the contents of her stomach into it, coughing loudly. She wiped her mouth and stood, clutching the sink to stare at herself in the mirror.<p>

She saw a pale, skinny girl with thick, stringy brown hair staring back at her. The girl's mascara and eyeliner was smeared and she more resembled a raccoon than a witch. Her brown eyes were dulled with pain and lack of proper sleep. Hermione couldn't bear to look at her anymore. She grabbed a pot from the window sill and hurled it at the mirror. Glass flew everywhere but she didn't flinch, she just stared at the blank space where the mirror had once hung up, feeling an empty satisfaction at her vicious handy work.

She stripped her thin black shirt off and threw it carelessly on the floor, followed by her thick socks and black boots, and tiny charcoal skirt. She walked over the broken mirror shards, uncaring that some of them cut into her feet and stepped into the shower.

She turned the hot water on and flinched as the only semi-heated water made contact with her bare skin. As the water temperature rose, steam blossomed in the tiny bathroom. She stood under the flow of hot water, and though her skin warmed up, she still felt cold inside. She hugged herself, trying to get the heat to absorb further into her body to no avail.

She sat on the floor of her shower, her knees drawn up to her chest as she hugged them tight, her head bowed slightly. She wasn't sure how long she sat there, but when she got up and turned the shower off, her fingers and toes were pruned and the sky outside was dark.

She walked naked to her bedroom before slipping into an oversized sweater and onto her bed, pulling the unmade covers over her body and grabbing a pillow to hold in her arms and bury her face into before she fell into a deep slumber.

She woke a few more times from hunger but ignored it, and the only time she left her bed was to go to the bathroom. Beyond that, the bed she had once shared with Draco was her world. She felt bleak and she knew what she was doing wasn't healthy but she just didn't care to do much more than sleep at the moment, and so she slept. She had taught herself to be an impulsive creature, with all the drugs and drinking and sex, and she would be impulsive in caving to her craving to sleep until the world ended.

It wasn't like anyone would come to check on her, either. Harry and Ron went on benders all the time and disappeared, they never worried about one another—what was the point in worrying in a world like this, where things happened whether you worried or not? She had done it a fair few times as well; she knew they wouldn't bother to search for her. And besides, they weren't those kinds of friends to one another anymore. They still cared for one another deeply, she knew, but they were so consumed with their own pain that they didn't have room to soothe the others'. They took care of each as best they could.

Draco had been the closest she had to someone who cared for her above their own needs, as she knew she cared for him above hers. But apparently, he didn't care for her enough to stick around. Her problems had been too much for him to handle, something she had always known would happen. It shouldn't have been a surprise that he had finally found out the truth—that she was an empty shell of the Hermione Granger everyone had known. But she had truly thought he had known already and just hadn't cared, that he had loved who she was now, just as she had loved him as he was. Yes, loved. She had loved him. She did love him. But it didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered much anymore.

After a while (had it been days? Weeks? She couldn't be sure.) Hermione got out of bed. She took a real shower where she actually washed her body with a fruity smelling soap, trying to force cheerfulness and life into her being. She forced herself to chug water and sip on a big mug of tea and shoved toast and jam down her throat. It would have to do for sustenance.

She was going to move on from this. She had moved on from worse, and she could move on from this the same way that she had gotten over everything else.

She ate a little more and wandered around her flat, but stayed away from her bed, afraid that it would seduce her into its depths for days once more.

When it was finally late enough to go out, she dressed herself, throwing on a tank top that at one point in time had been fitted and tight on her but now hung loosely from her frame. She slipped into a dark pair of jeans that managed to still cling to her hips and grabbed an onyx leather jacket, this time determined to beat out the cold.

When she Apparated to the alley, she repressed a shudder and sudden urge to vomit from the flash of memories that greeted her, instead forcing herself to focus on the painted black door in front of her. She banged twice on it and Diego answered quickly this time, letting her in with his customary nod. She was strangely comforted by the fact that at least this routine hadn't changed. The stinking smell of spilled drinks and sweaty dancers wafted towards her, growing stronger as she moved down the dark corridor towards the flashing lights and loud music that never failed to make her feel anonymous.

She looked around and spotted Ron and Harry lounging on the chaises in the back. She headed over to them, eager to just hear their voices again, a reminder that she wasn't the only one who had been screwed by circumstance.

They nodded and smiled at her in greeting.

"Haven't seen you around here alone in a while, Mione," Harry stated genially, as was his way. She was thankful that he hadn't mentioned that she hadn't been around in a while, alone or not, and months ago (the last time she really remembered going out at night to clubs) it had been with Draco. She was even more thankful that Harry hadn't mentioned his name. Tonight was for her.

She just smiled at him, and even though it felt flatter than usual to her, Harry accepted it without any qualms and Ron handed her a drink.

She downed it all in one go and motioned for the bartender to bring another round for them.

Ron grinned at her. "You didn't even ask me what was in that one!"

She rolled her eyes at him as he laughed at her.

"Well I assumed if it's good enough for your tastes it can't be half bad."

He laughed again and the bartender set their drinks down.

"So what did you add to it then, Ronald?" she asked after the waitress had moved away.

"Something new that Harry and I have been trying out lately," he said as he pulled a few blue vials out of his inside jacket pocket.

She grabbed one from his hand and chugged it, hastily chasing it with her firewhisky.

She set her glass down suspiciously when she saw Ron and Harry staring at her.

"What?" she asked perplexed at their reactions.

Ron slowly grinned.

"Well…we've never tried that much at once before."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, Ron. I guess I'm just a little less of a pussy than you are, aren't I?"

Harry chuckled at her comment. "Cheeky as ever, isn't she?" He commented to Ron.

She forced herself to laugh lightly at them before she got up and moved to the dance floor waiting for the blue mystery vial to take effect in her.

She tried to focus on the beat of the music and stop the questions about the drug, about her life choices, that spouted from the curiosity that was so innately a part of her. It was hard, but she had done it before. She could do it again.

After a few minutes, her heart began pounding in her chest and adrenaline was shooting through her body. It was terrifying to feel so out of control, but to still have one foot planted enough in reality to realize you were on the precipice.

She sped to the bar, ordered a few shots and took them down. Alcohol was a depressant, right? Her hammering heart needed to slow down. She knew she was being reckless, and she reveled in it. She hadn't been reckless like this in a while. She missed feeling so out of control that you were lost to your own body, so rash that your foggy brain could only deal with the single problems presented to it, one at a time. She missed doing this just because she could, not to deal with the press or pressures, but because she just felt like it. The carelessness was a way to run from the emotional problems, because who cared if you were sad or scared when you were on the brink? When you were staring down a dark tunnel through which you might not return if you entered, who cared that you were human, a mere mortal? Who cared that you had seen horrors or felt helpless and stupid when your strengths had always been control and knowledge? No one cared. You could only care about the most basic of instincts, you could only care if you survived or not. And she survived; she always had and would continue to do so.

She jerkily moved to the beat of the music but she felt erratic and disconnected from her surroundings. No one around her seemed to notice her odd behavior though. Did they not see her? Was she invisible to them? Wasn't anonymity what she searched for when she came here, though? But now when she felt like she was floating above them all she wanted to scream at the people around her. Help that poor girl! Don't you see something terrible is going on with her? Does no one notice? And of course, no one did. She was the same as every night, dancing to her own music, unnoticing if anyone around danced with her. What did she expect? When she cut herself off from everyone else, others had nothing to hold on to her by and no reason to try. She stopped dancing, suddenly feeling her limbs again and shakily tried to move back towards the lounge area. She stumbled, slipped, and her body spilled onto the ground and she stared intently at the floor as colors flashed from the strobe lights onto the slick surface of the black linoleum. It was just like her; scuffed up and ugly, blackened with paint and dirt.

She made no attempt to get up. She was invisible anyways. No one would bother her here. And the ground was so cool against her too hot skin. It felt nice, she thought as she gazed at the floor. She barely registered when two somewhat familiar faces hovered in her periphery. She thought she might have heard voices calling her name and she caught bits and pieces of phrases drifting around her head.

"Shit…"

"…should have known…"

"…'s?"

"…can't…illegal…the press…"

"Where…?"

"Draco…the drugs…he'll know…"

She heard Draco's name and made an effort to move in protest.

"No," she tried to moan, but whether it was heard or heeded by them she couldn't be sure because she began to feel very heavy, like her limbs were weighed down, and she was fighting desperately to stay above the crushing weight.

She thought she might have been picked up at that point, but she couldn't be sure.

She was in and out during their journey. She saw a flash of the alley and shut her eyes tightly. Even in the haze she felt the overwhelming memories of the place squeeze her. When she opened them again they were outside a vaguely familiar looking building and when she blinked, suddenly they were inside, in an elevator and she heard more words floating down to her.

"Com'n…Wake…"

"…hear me?..."

"…his flat?..."

"Pound…every door…down…"

There was a loud banging noise, some yelling, more male voices talking and then she was being moved again but she couldn't understand it at all. Everything was bright and glowing and surreal looking, it began to take on a creepy quality. The hallway with all its' doors was rushing by her, rushing at her menacingly.

And suddenly she saw him. In all his brilliance and beauty there he was again. Draco. She blinked and thought she felt tears in her eyes and wanted to laugh at the physical betrayal of her emotions they brought. She didn't want to feel so vulnerable around him anymore. That was what tonight was all about and here she was being hand delivered back to him, her humiliation on display. She felt the body that was holding her try to shift and clung desperately to it, not wanting to be let go or be left alone with this beautiful angel who had broken her so completely.

They were talking about her, she could tell, but her heart was beating frantically again and she was trying to look anywhere but him but everything was moving, enlarging threateningly and then shrinking back, she couldn't focus on anything and now the tears that fell from her eyes were flowing. She didn't want to be near him, not like this, not helpless. She did want to be out of control but at the same she didn't at all. She wouldn't have been able to handle being near him sober but she knew he wouldn't want to see her like this. She struggled to speak but nothing came out. She was choking on her own words and this frustrated her and she cried even more.

Suddenly his face was right in front of hers, and she couldn't look away from the worry in his steely eyes.

"Hermione, can you hear me? Nod your head."

He spoke loudly and clearly to her, and though she heard the words it took her a few minutes to comprehend and respond to them, but eventually she nodded.

Relief swept across his face.

He spoke to whoever was holding her and she felt herself being placed onto something soft.

Her eyes were wide open, and though she saw her surroundings, she couldn't make sense of the warm colors that surrounded her. They simply did not correspond with how she felt at the moment, which was more like the ricocheting after effects of a powerful explosion. Her nerves felt like they were breaking apart at the seams. It wasn't quite painful, but it didn't feel too pleasant either.

She felt herself being hoisted into a sitting position and stared into those grey blue eyes once more.

He spoke to her again.

"Hermione, you have to drink this alright? It's going to cancel the effects of the drug you took."

While she was still trying to figure out what the words he had said meant a slimy grey looking potion was being forced down her throat. She choked on it a little but someone was closing her mouth, forcing her to swallow it all. It slowly slid down into her esophagus and she felt a strange cooling sensation flood her body, starting from her stomach.

In minutes she was shivering just as hard as she had all those days (was it weeks?) ago, on that dreadful day. She felt herself being pulled into his lap and swaddled in a warm, thick blanket, being rocked to and fro. It was soothing, the warmth and comfort and care she was receiving, and before she knew it she was drifting peacefully away.

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><p>When she awoke dawn was slowly creeping into the room from some large bay windows across from her. She looked about her and saw Harry and Ron passed out on a leather chair and the floor, respectively. She felt groggy and disoriented and tried to remember where she was and how she had gotten here. She shifted slightly but froze when she felt the thing she was asleep on shift as well. Slowly she turned and looked to see stormy eyes looking back. She felt her breath catch in her throat.<p>

He looked terrible, like he'd been up all night. His eyes were blood shot and his pale skin had a grey tint to it. His blond hair stuck up in odd places from a restless night and his soft lips were set in a thin line.

She felt like saying something but could do nothing more than stare at him.

She practically jumped when he spoke in a quiet, scratchy voice.

"How do you feel?"

"Like…shite," she responded, and her voice matched the dry rawness her throat felt.

He leaned over and grabbed a glass of water off the end table that sat to the right of the comfy beige coach they were settled on. Silently he handed it to her and she drank greedily until there was nothing left. She spluttered a bit from the sudden liquid hitting her dehydrated body but it helped her throat immensely. The pounding head ache and nausea however, remained.

"I can't give you anything for your other symptoms…you've had a lot in your system in the past 24 hours, it'd be unwise to add even something as innocent as a Pepper Up potion to the equation," he said softly, taking the glass from her and setting it back on the table.

She nodded in understanding, looking down at her hands, unsure of what to say or how to respond. She wasn't sure what had happened last night, beyond the fact that she had taken too much of something and Ron and Harry had taken her to Draco. Why had they taken her to Draco? She glanced over at her two friends, both snoring softly.

"Why—" She began but he interrupted her before she could say any more.

"I sold them the drugs. They knew I had an antidote for overdoses…I can't believe they let you take that much, I told them one sip was more than enough for either of them and you're practically half the size of either of those two oafs."

She looked at her hands again, the situation made her so uncomfortable. She wanted to get up and run away but she felt weak and her limbs felt flimsy; she didn't even want to know what would happen if she tried to put weight on them. So she sat in his lap, impatiently waiting for him to lecture her or move her and leave or throw her out of his flat entirely. But they sat in silence and she felt his gaze upon her but refused to meet it.

"Hermione,"

She looked up at him. His voice was hoarse with emotion and it startled her. His eyes stormed with unsaid things and she felt tears welling in her eyes but couldn't blink them away, she was unable to break eye contact with him, not now.

He hugged her body to him and his head was in the crook of her neck and though he didn't make much noise besides whispering her name over and over again into her hair, she could feel his tears dripping onto her skin and she couldn't stop her arms from wrapping around him in return.

She felt safe like this, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and security with him this close, holding her. But she knew he was just glad his rejection of her hadn't killed her, he was glad this wasn't his fault. And with that thought in her head she dropped her arms and leaned away from him.

He stiffened and slowly pulled away from her as well, eyeing her closely.

She tried to get up and move away but only succeeded in almost falling off his lap, but he caught her and kept her steady.

She sighed in frustration. Fate was cruel, she couldn't get away at all, and he seemed to be making no effort to distance them either.

"You have to stop, Hermione, you have to," he practically whispered. She almost didn't hear him.

"Stop what?" she snapped back, exasperated. She was tired of him speaking in riddles and circles, assuming she understood everything when really all she understood was that he had left for no reason other than she hadn't been enough for him.

"Stop the drugs and the drinking. You're killing yourself. You almost died last night."

She half laughed at him.

"A little hypocritical, don't you think? You're apparently still doing them, why should I stop? I admit last night things got out of hand, but it wasn't like I did it on purpose."

He looked at her for a long moment

"Didn't you?" he said, leveling her.

She glared back at him, angry at his accusation. Of course she hadn't. She wanted to survive. Above all else she had to believe in that.

She opened her mouth to snap back at him but he cut her off.

"I'm not doing anything, I'm clean."

Her mouth snapped shut. "But you sold—"

He nodded. "I'm selling off what I have left, but I stopped using months ago. The last time I did was with you that day we were in bed together…when we told…well, anyways, I stopped after that. For some reason I thought you eventually would, too. But you never did."

She swallowed nervously.

"I…I tried, a few times. But I couldn't—I…there was a lot of pressure and I couldn't do it. Everyone's always watching me, waiting for me to screw up…"

He closed his eyes, pained.

"I want to help you, Hermione, I really do. But be honest, you never really tried, did you? You never went without, not for longer than you would have normally."

She was silent. He was right. She'd only been clean around him because she hadn't thought about it around him. She hadn't really tried to stop. She hadn't thought she'd needed to, really. She'd thought they were fine the way they were.

She looked down at her hands again, ashamed.

"I don't know if I can…not here," she admitted, glancing at Harry and Ron, her two oldest and dearest friends in the world, who were both just as miserable and messed up as she was.

"Let me take you away from here, then. Somewhere nobody knows who you are, and if they do they don't care. Somewhere no one will give a damn either way. It'll just be me and you, Hermione. I'll help you, and you can help me."

She stared at Harry and Ron, both starting to stir as the sun began to shine a little brighter into the small room.

"I…I can't. Not now." She whispered.

She felt his fists clench in frustration. She forced herself to move off of his lap and pulled herself to the other side of the couch, desperate now for some distance between them.

Harry and Ron woke and stretched and effectively ended the conversation between the two.

Ron glanced up at Hermione.

"Alright, then?"

"Alright," she smiled back.

He got up from the floor as Harry stood.

"Let's take you home, then,"

The boys both nodded at Draco in acknowledgment and thanks for his help and then wordlessly helped her get to her feet and half-carried her to the door. Draco sat on the couch, unmoving, and Hermione forced herself not to look back at him as her two child hood friends carried her out the door and back to her flat so she could try to recover in peace, alone. Again.

* * *

><p><strong>AN2<strong>: Hope you enjoyed it. I'm thinking of changing the name to the story, I hope you all don't get confused by it. Also, should I change the rating, move it up to M? Let me know your thoughts.


	6. Float

Hermione's way of healing was to get rip-roaring drunk. She didn't take any more drugs; that would require seeing people she would rather not see, and even thinking about it brought this overwhelming sense of guilt and Draco's face floated to the forefront of her mind. And the last thing she wanted to think of was him.

She was tired of talking to people; tired of thinking of what to say to Draco when she saw him again, tired of thinking about Draco, at all, period.

So she kept drinking. Bottles of whiskey, butter beers, and elven wines littered the table in front of her and there were clear and dark liquors sprinkled throughout her flat so that she would never be without, no matter the room or her mood. What else could she do, honestly? As drunk as she was though, she was trying to limit herself. She refused to be sober, but she never wanted to become that pathetic puddle she had become a few weeks ago. She never wanted Draco to see her like that again. She never wanted to feel so vulnerable and so needy and ripped apart ever again. But she wasn't quite ready to face reality, either…so she drank.

Because honestly, she knew she wanted to do the right thing. She wanted to be good enough for the man she had fallen so hard for. But she didn't want to do it right now. The pain was too deep, it was too much to deal with. Besides, she knew he didn't love her. Because she knew that Draco hadn't left because her problems were too much for him. It was because she was bringing him down. He was trying to stay clean and she was making it harder for him.

But she couldn't forget about him because he kept stopping by. He would knock on the door and she wouldn't answer but he knew she was in there so he would continue to knock. She would crack the door open, look at him, and then shut the door and walk away.

He felt guilty, she knew it. He felt like her spiral into despair was his fault, and she had tried to convince him that she was always a mess and him breaking up with her was only a small piece of the chaos that was her miserable existence but he had just given her a strange look and come back the next day. At this point it was some strange game they played. She drank and barely went anywhere; he came to her flat every day to check that she was alive and then left, which made her even sadder and drink even more, and then he would return to check on her the next day. Three weeks of this was slowly driving her mad, and her liver at this point probably wanted to explode, so she had to start taking a cleansing potion. She wouldn't want one of Draco's checks to go horribly wrong and for him to have to find her body, the guilt would probably drive him back to drugs, she was sure. Or even worse, he would be relieved and happy and move on. So no, she kept drinking but she kept herself alive.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Hermione woke up feeling terrible. Her head ached, the world was spinning and she could feel her stomach churning. She stumbled out of bed, knocking over a few empty bottles in the process and tripped her way into the kitchen. She grabbed some pepper up potion, a cleansing potion, and made coffee. When it was piping hot she grabbed some malt liquor from the counter and poured a liberal amount into the cup and drank deeply, barely noticing that she had scalded her tongue. When she finished the coffee, she grabbed the bottle and brought it to the couch with her. She wrapped herself in a warm blanket and cuddled in to wait out the rest of the morning.<p>

The bottle went faster than she expected and Hermione was only slightly buzzed, not enough to face The Knock she knew would come in an hour or so. Hastily she threw on some warmer cloths and threw her hair up into some semblance of propriety, though there was really nothing she could do for the foul smell she knew came from her breath. She went down to the corner store and greeted the Muggle owner as an old friend. She knew he judged her harshly for her mid-day purchases but she really couldn't bother herself to care. At least it wasn't a Wizarding store where people would recognize her for who she truly was. She bundled up her bottles and traipsed back to her apartment. It had taken a little longer than she had expected, there had been a line and then she had gotten distracted with her bundle and walked right past her building. When she finally made it to her floor she almost dropped her bag. Her door was wide open.

She slowly pulled out her wand and walked carefully towards her door. When she got in, she saw no one and she quietly put her bag down and walked through the house, seeing no one. When she finally got to her bedroom, she almost dropped her wand in shock.

"What on earth are you doing?" she demanded, though it did not come out as threateningly as she had intended, her voice was hoarse from lack of use.

Silver eyes swung up to meet her and relief flooded the pale face of her dreams, of her nightmares.

"You…" his voice trailed off.

"Yes,_ me_. What are _you_ doing?" her voice was slightly stronger now. She was angry. He hadn't been in this room in so long; she thought she had slowly been cleansing it of his memories. But now she had a new image burned into her head, his thin figure perched on the edge of her white duvet, light streaming in from the open window. He looked beautiful, and she hated it, hated herself more for her natural response to him.

"I thought that you…" he looked at the window and back at her.

"You thought I'd…what? _Jumped?_" she asked incredulously.

He didn't answer but she could tell she had hit it on the head. She scoffed.

"Might have seen a body down there, wouldn't you have?" She turned to leave the room hoping he would get the point. After a few moments she heard him thudding after her.

She led him to the door, and motioned for him to leave.

"Hermione, I—" He began but she cut him off.

"Look, just leave, would you? I don't need a babysitter, and I don't want to talk."

His mouth closed and he looked around the room, at the bottles, and finally his eyes rested on the fresh supply she'd left by the door. He frowned at it, and opened his mouth as if to say something, but she shook her head.

"Just…leave, Draco. Just go." She spoke in a tired voice, a voice that desperately begged for no arguments.

He shut his mouth again and walked out. She closed the door and shut her eyes leaning her back against the wood. She counted to sixty slowly before opening her eyes as she slid down on to the ground. She pulled the bag towards her and twisted off the top of the first bottle her hand brushed across. She took a long swig and winced as it went down. Yes, she was definitely going to get rip-roaring drunk.

The day after he went back to The Knock and she relaxed slightly. She could take seeing him framed in the doorway once a day, she had steeled herself against that enough now, but his intrusion into her house had caused her a world of unexpected hurt. A new week of their established routine went by in relative peace.

But then, on Thursday of the next week, he had to push things once more. She heard The Knock and went to answer it as usual, a huge sweater hung around her, keeping her warm and covered and she curled into it more, using it as a protective shield.

She opened it, looked at him, and made to close the door but he put his hand on the door and stopped her from closing it. She stared at him in surprise.

"Would you…would you just do me a favor?" he asked, his voice haggard and tired, surprising her even more. What could he be tired from? She was silent and looked at him, too shocked to speak, and curious as to what else he could possibly want from her. Hadn't she given him everything already? Her heart, her soul, her life, now her drugs? He'd cast everything aside anyways, what would please him now?

He took her silence as acquiescence and pushed on.

"Would you stop drinking so much?"

She froze for a moment at the earnest look on his face and then a loud laugh escaped her lips. She couldn't help it. Of course he wanted her to stop drinking. He wanted to keep her safe, so he wouldn't have to worry all the time that she might die. He wanted to fix her, so he wouldn't have to blame himself anymore for how broken she had become. Apparently, he did have more to take from her. Her sanity.

When her laughter died down she calmed herself and stared straight into his eyes and responded to him in a flat voice.

"No," and with that she managed to shut the door in his face. She walked back to the couch and huddle into its warmth and drank a large glass full of whiskey to forget the pain she had seen flash through his face.

* * *

><p>The next day, Hermione was seething. She had had much more time to sit and ponder his request. A favor? Honestly? He had such nerve to request anything from her, anything at all, and yet he had. She had gotten over the shock and had time to sit and angrily think about it for a good 24 hours now. A favor, honestly!<p>

She had stayed in her bed this morning, too angry to get up. All she had was a glass of water but she supposed that was better for her than the rest she had been drinking so she downed it. She heard birds chirping and wanted to throw the glass at them but refrained; she had closed her window and was in no mood to have to pick up that mess. Instead she sat, fuming and angry at his audacity.

Finally a loud noise drew her from her reverie. Oh, The Knock. But it was louder, and it was several knocks, and it was insistent. In fact, she thought she heard some shouting. She slowly got out of bed, aware of the world spinning around her but trying to ignore it. As she got closer, she recognized the voice. His Voice, of course, who else came for a daily visit to her cheerful abode?

She took her time getting to the door, and when she finally opened it, she saw a livid Draco standing there, his fist raised as if to pound on the door once more. She raised her eyebrow at the sight and turned around, walking back towards the kitchen, leaving the door open. If he wanted to check on her, by all means he could check on her. He could see just how much she'd been trying to uphold that favor he'd asked of her.

He stood in the doorway a moment, confused, but she didn't care. Her coffee was nearly done by the time he made it to the counter she stood by.

"That's an improvement," he nodded at the coffee.

She smirked as she took the cup of coffee and grabbed the malt liquor, combining the two, heavy on the liquor. He frowned but said nothing.

"Didn't you hear me pounding on your door? Didn't you hear me calling your name?"

She sipped at her coffee, it was too hot to drink yet and she blew on it impatiently.

"'Spose not," she stated. He glared at her.

"Are you trying to punish me for caring about you? I just want to make sure you don't drown yourself in here," he grit out.

She laughed humorlessly. "Care about me? You have to be kidding. I know you think me dying would be awful, but let's be honest, it would be a huge relief for you—and I'm not about to give that to you. So don't worry."

He looked at her, astonishment across his normally reigned in face. He was never very good at keeping his emotions in check around her. She supposed it was because he didn't care what she thought of him.

She continued in his silence, "Let me ease your guilt, if it did happened, it wouldn't be your fault. There, now you can stop pretending to care."

His mouth fell open slightly but he caught it quickly and turned his surprise into an angry glare.

"You think I'm pretending? You think I would be relieved if you died? It would be my fault. It would be your friends' fault as well. It would be everyone who ever said they cared about you and then abandoned you's fault. And even if it wasn't my fault at all, I would care. I would be…Hermione, if you died…" his voice trailed off and choked slightly but he shook his head, trying to shake the thought out. "I don't pretend to care about you, Hermione." He looked at her firmly, determinedly. "I do care about you. I love you."

She froze. It was her turn for her mouth to drop slightly in surprise, but her anger came back, as it always did.

"You have a funny way of showing it," she turned away from him and back to her coffee, sipping more from it.

He swore under his breath and grabbed the cup and threw it into her sink where it cracked and the amber liquid washed down the pipe. She looked at him. She'd never known him to be particularly violent…unless you counted the war, and before the war, which she tried not to. That was probably the reason they had ever been able to be with each other in the first place, because they didn't like to focus on the past, they liked to forget it had ever happened.

"I know that I haven't been all you need, but you're a mess. The way we were together…it could be so good. But it wasn't good for us, not really, not like that. I got clean for you. And you never noticed, never cared, never tried to do it yourself,"

"Well look how good it's going that I'm trying to now…" she mumbled under her breath, he heard and gave her a harsh look, but continued regardless.

"It wasn't right, and you know it. We could never last like that, and I wanted it to last. Do you know how terrifying it is to want something that can't happen? So I tried to fix it, and the only way I could was because that thought haunted me. And when I realized you didn't want…didn't care if it lasted. Didn't even think about where we would go, what we could be... What was I supposed to do? I thought you'd be happier without me trying to kill your buzz all the time. I couldn't watch you do it, knowing how I felt."

She was staring at him, trying to piece together what he was saying. He loved her? He wanted a future with her? He cared for her? He wanted her? It didn't make sense. What about the guilt? What about him leaving her in the rain? What about all of her pain? What about his indifference? He had been so indifferent, hadn't he? Hadn't he?

"Clearly I meant more to you than I thought," his eyes swept the room, the disgusting habitat she'd been living in.

"That night…that you almost…you almost died. I was terrified. And then in the morning after we talked I was so angry with you, angry that you weren't even going to try, after all that. But I couldn't just leave you, not knowing how you were. And now you're trying. I don't know if it's for me or for someone else but I can't not care about you, I don't know how to. Now that I'm sober…you're all that I think about. All that I care about. You're the reason I get up, and I know I sound so damn disgusting right now but I have to say it. We never said it and now I have to. Because if it helps you in any way to get yourself better, than I have to say it. And if something happens to you, I can't have you…you can't…you can't die not knowing how I feel. You can't. You can't die."

He stared fiercely at her, his emotions boiling over like never before. He sounded proud of himself for saying it, sounded certain of what he was saying, but uncertain of how she would take it. In her heart, she believed him, but all her anger and pain were threatening to overwhelm her and she stared at him and then at the sink where the remnants of her morning brew sat. Her chest was heaving and breathing was difficult. She felt pinpricks in her eyes, and she cursed herself at her weakness. She didn't want to cry in front of him, she didn't want him to know just how much his actions had hurt her. But she couldn't stop herself and she shoved her hands against his chest trying to push him away so she could run, so he wouldn't see her cry. But he stood his ground, unmoving. She stepped closer and shoved him harder but he wouldn't budge. She tried hitting him, punching him, but he just stared at her with that fierce expression of love, of deep caring.

She grabbed his grey shirt and tried to shove him again but she lost her balance and fell into him. And then his arms were around her and she couldn't stop the sobs that were now racking her body. He held her, his face in her hair whispering things she couldn't hear, rubbing her soothingly. She was so tired, so exhausted from fighting, from hiding her feelings, from trying to repress everything she ever felt, from hiding herself in her flat. Her body was tired from the torture she put it through, from all the toxins it had, it collapsed into him. She barely noticed him picking her up and taking her to her bed.

She hardly heard a word he said, but as he held her against him, rubbing soothing circles into her skin, she heard herself speak to him.

"Why didn't you just forget me? Why didn't you just leave me and move on?"

And she heard him reply in a soft voice, much gentler than she'd ever heard him speak.

"I could never forget you, you can never forget your first love. It was stupid that I ever even tried."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Ok, too mushy? What do you think? I know it's been awhile, sorry! But was this too sappy? Let me know! Do you like where this is going? I was totally going to take the story somewhere else when I originally thought of the plot but this makes sense...I think.


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